


ice cold

by bishopsknifepatrick



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Depression, Handholding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i guess, some gentle boys, some good ol' handholding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:30:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14259027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishopsknifepatrick/pseuds/bishopsknifepatrick
Summary: Cold tile. Bright lights. White walls.He felt like he was living in a freezer. But the shivering was the only way to keep him from crying.Patrick hadn't moved in what felt like hours, but it had really only been 22 minutes according to the clock ticking behind him. Staring at it upside down, the second hand went around slowly.





	ice cold

**Author's Note:**

> just some boys laying right next to each other because they are sad and gay

Cold tile. Bright lights. White walls.

He felt like he was living in a freezer. But the shivering was the only way to keep him from crying. 

Patrick hadn't moved in what felt like hours, but it had really only been 22 minutes according to the clock ticking behind him. Staring at it upside down, the second hand went around slowly. 

Pete had been gone all day at a…at…, well, Patrick couldn't quite remember at the moment. His brain was scattered. He just wasn't here. And Patrick didn't want to call and disrupt his day.

Patrick’s day had started fine, but then like an hourglass dropping to the floor, his happiness ran out. Shattered glass and sand spreading out all over the floor.

His maroon shirt was riding up his back, causing it to roll up, and create discomfort. His lower back was directly against the tile floor, sending chills up his spine, making the shivering worse. If he hadn't clenched his teeth together, they'd be chattering. He had put his feet on the the edge of the bathtub. 

Through the small window to his left, he could see the sky turning to from blue to reds, oranges and yellows. He wanted to get up and look at it, but Patrick didn't really see the point. 

His body was becoming stiff, and to move his arm just a little bit felt like lifting a boulder as he reach over for a discarded towel. He slowly put it under his head to give his head some relief, and stop an impending headache. 

The bathroom lights, that appeared as though they were floating over the mirror, were switched on. Only two out of the three were actually lit, the third third having been out for weeks now. Neither of them had remembered to grab one at the grocery store, despite it being the main purpose for some visits. 

The high ceiling made him feel small, and it made the room even colder, with more space to heat. 

He felt worthless, his exhaustion making time move slowly. His ability to cope on his own had decreased significantly, him feeling like he was on a downward slope, heading straight to the ground. _I hate myself, I hate myself, I hate mys-_

His inner voice stopped dead mid sentence, as he heard the front door swing opened. He wished it would be a murderer, here to kill him, but with his luck, it'd just be Pete coming in from…wherever it is he was. Patrick still couldn't remember. 

He could hear footsteps shuffle across the wooden floor of the living room, “Patrick?” Pete’s distinct voice called.

Patrick hadn't spoken in a few hours, not even to himself, this made his throat dry up and his voice was croaky. 

Pete, downstairs, was checking all the rooms in search of Patrick, who still hadn't responded to his call. Tired feet were now climbing the stairs to the second floor. When they reached the top of the stairs, Pete called again, “Patrick?” 

Clearing his throat, Patrick finally said back, “In here.”

Peeking his head through the door, noticing Patrick on the floor, “Are you okay?” On the floor, Patrick shrugged his shoulders, attempting a sad smile. Pete leaned on the doorway, “Whatcha’ doing?” 

“Just laying here,” was all Patrick could say. A normal person might have just dismissed this as crazy and let him be, but Pete, being equally crazy, stepped into the bathroom. He lowered himself to the floor beside Patrick before laying down right next to him. Their shoulders touched, Pete's warm body feeling comforting to Patrick’s cold. 

Hesitantly, Patrick turned his head to the side, Pete doing the same, so they were staring into each other's eyes. But Pete’s whiskey coloured eyes didn't meet Patrick’s typical hopeful gaze, but rather the blue-green mix was lost. 

Without breaking his (hopefully) comforting gaze from Patrick’s, Pete reached for his hand. Once Pete was holding Patrick’s hand in his, he gently pulled it in his direction, to the left side of his stomach. He brought his other hand up, so he could rub Patrick’s knuckle with his thumb. 

Patrick brought himself closer to Pete, their heads resting against each other.


End file.
